


Reckoning

by LuthienLuinwe



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Batman 55 Spoilers, Brain Damage, Gun Violence, M/M, TBI, Traumatic Brain Injury, caretaker, gunshot wound, recovery fic, relationship doubts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-11 01:27:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16466081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuthienLuinwe/pseuds/LuthienLuinwe
Summary: All it took was a moment. A second. A breath. It had seemed unreal, how quickly everything had happened.Lives could change in a heartbeat. No one knew that as much as Bruce Wayne did.  How many times had his life been turned upside down in seconds, breaths, heartbeats?Dick wasn’t meant to fall. He was grace and precision. But the bullet had landed in his head all the same, and Dick had fallen and fallen hard.Bruce is left to care for Dick after the younger man takes a bullet to the head. But between outburst and Dick not being quite the same, he begins to think he's in way over his head. He only hopes that he can do the best for Dick, and that everything will end up okay.





	1. Hallelujah

**And I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch. Our love is not a victory march. It’s a cold, and it’s a broken hallelujah.**

All it took was a moment. A second. A breath. 

It had seemed unreal, how quickly everything had happened. 

Lives could change in a heartbeat. No one knew that as much as Bruce Wayne did. 

How many times had his life been turned upside down in seconds, breaths, heartbeats?

Dick wasn’t meant to fall. He was grace and precision. But the bullet had landed in his head all the same, and Dick had fallen and fallen hard. 

If he listened closely, he could still hear the sickening thud when the younger man’s body had hit the cold, hard ground.

For more than a moment, Bruce was certain Dick was dead. No one could have survived that. It wouldn’t have been possible. 

And it wasn’t fair. 

Hadn’t life taken enough from him already? His parents. Jason (time after God-forsaken time), even Damian once…

He couldn’t lose Dick too. 

He was running over to the body (no, don’t think of it like a body, at least not yet, at least not until you can’t feel his pulse or hear his heart beating), dropping down beside it (him). 

He pressed two fingers to the side of Dick’s neck and held his breath for a second. Two. Swish. Thump. Swish. Thump. Swiiiiiiiiiidh. Thuuump. It was weak, threads, barely there… but it was there and that was what mattered. 

They needed an ambulance, and they needed one now, and for once Bruce didn’t care if their identities were revealed. That wasn’t important anymore, not when Dick lay dying in front of him. 

He hadn’t been able to save Jason. 

He hadn’t been able to save Damian. 

He’d be damned if he couldn’t save Dick. 

“Don’t do this to me,” he whispered into the young man’s ear. “Don’t you dare do this to me.” 

Dick had always followed orders, no matter what they were, no matter where they were. Why should this time be any different?  _ Because he’s lying on the ground with a hole in his head, and he may be better off in the end if he dies.  _

No. He couldn’t think like that. He needed Dick to make a full recovery. He needed Dick like he needed the air that filled his lungs. 

He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. 

Swish. Thump. Swish. Thump. Swiiiiiish. Thuuump. Swish-thump. 

“Don’t do this.”

The paramedics had to pry him away in the end. Bruce didn’t want to leave him. He never wanted to leave him. Bad things always happened to Dick when he was alone. And as long as Bruce was there, he could protect Dick. Keep him safe…

And he’d failed. He’d failed at the one thing he’d promised to do. He failed at it over and over and over again.

“Condition critical.”

“Blood pressure dropping.”

“Stay with us, kid.”

“Not every day you see a superhero fall.”

“Air-lift to Gotham Mercy…”

He heard the helicopter before he saw it, blades cutting through the air like it was nothing. Dick’s life was going to be in its hands, and Bruce was left to hope, only to hope, that it would get him to the hospital in time, that the doctors could save him, that something, that  _ anything  _ would keep his Dick from being taken from him.

He couldn’t imagine a world without Dick, without his laugh, his joy, his optimism. Dick was a bright light in a dark world. People needed him. People depended on him. Bruce  _ needed  _ him. Dick couldn’t go. Not then. Not like that.

It wouldn’t happen.

Not on his watch.

He had to get to the hospital. He had to get to the hospital so he could keep an eye on the doctors and surgeons and nurses and make damn sure that Dick was getting the best care that he could.

He couldn’t die.

He couldn’t.

The drive to Gotham Mercy took thirty minutes from current location if driving in a regular car and staying five over. In the Batmobile, Bruce made it in fifteen. Still, he had felt every last damn second of those fifteen minutes.

What if Dick had died between point A and point B? 

What if Dick had died alone and scared in a helicopter surrounded by strangers?

The words were playing in his head, and he didn’t dare tune his scanner for fear of hearing them. They pounded through his head like some sort of sick, twisted mantra he couldn’t shake.  _ Dead on arrival. Dead on arrival. Dead on arrival. _

No. Dick couldn’t be dead. Bruce would know in his gut if it had happened… Right? And everything still felt normal, or at least as normal as it could feel. Hell, when had anything ever been normal between him and Dick?  Never, if memory served Bruce as well as he thought it did. 

The universe couldn’t take Dick from him, not when everything had been going so well up to that point.

The world needed more people like Dick Grayson and fewer people like Bruce Wayne. He’d thought that ever since he’d first noticed how mature and grown up Dick had become. Because deep down, there was a key difference between Dick and Bruce.

Dick was a good person.

And Bruce wasn’t.

* * *

_ “This is wrong.”  _

_ Dick was sat on his lap, Bruce’s arm wrapped around his waist. And it was wrong, wasn’t it? Bruce had practically raised Dick… And even if Dick was twenty-two and a consenting adult, something in the back of Bruce’s mind was screaming at him to stop, to not let it go any further than it already had. _

_ There hadn't been any harm in the movies or the dinners, right? Just bonding. Nothing wrong with bonding with one another. _

_ “You’re only seven years older than me,” Dick pouted, and Bruce all but melted at the sight. Who could say no to that face? And Dick was a grown man, not a kid anymore, and, well, the tabloids weren’t lying when they listed him as one of, if not the, sexiest men alive. _

_ Where was the harm? _

_ “I know you want this too,” Dick whispered softly, and Bruce wished he were wrong.  _

_ What would Alfred think? _

_ No. He didn’t want to think about what Alfred would think. It would already be bad enough if the butler walked in to see them as they were.  _

_ “Not here.” _

_ “So that’s a yes?” _

_ “It’s not a no.” _

_ “I’ll make it worth it.” And when Dick had batted those long eyelashes at him….  _

_ No. _

_ It was dangerous to be seduced by Dick Grayson. The boy (man) had no sense of what an adult relationship was like. He fell hard and he fell fast, and it was never going to be a long-term thing with Bruce. _

_ He couldn’t afford attachments like that. _

_ Dick would learn how the real world worked one way or another. _

_ “Okay.” _

_ “Okay?” _

_ “Okay.” _

_ Dick leaned in and kissed him, and for once, Bruce kissed him back. He used the hand at the base of Dick’s back to pull him closer, the message clear as day. Bruce was in charge. Dick deepened the kiss, and Bruce smirked when he heard the younger man moan. _

_ It was wrong. _

_ It was all so wrong. _

_ So why did it feel so right? _

_ Their bodies moved together in a way Bruce had never thought possible, like he was made for Dick and Dick was made for him. It had never been that way with any of the others. _

_ So really, it couldn’t have been that bad, right? _

_ He moved so Dick was pinned down on the couch, Bruce on top of him. He tried not to think of the mess Alfred was going to have to clean up and the questions Alfred was going to have for him later that evening.  _

_ Hell hath no fury like an angry Alfred, after all. _

_ No.  _

_ He didn’t want to think about Alfred. _

_ He wanted to think about Dick, only about Dick, about how he was going to have the man screaming his name by the end of it.  _

_ Bruce leaned down and kissed Dick again, something hungry, primal. He hadn't realized how much he wanted this to happen, how much he wanted the young man beneath him. _

_ And for once, Bruce lost control. _

_ And for once, he didn’t care. _

* * *

There were fewer places more depressing than an emergency room waiting area. Bruce paced back and forth, waiting to hear something, waiting to hear _ anything.  _ It had been hours since the gunshot.  _ He’s in surgery,  _ was the only update he’d gotten. Shouldn’t he have heard something by then? 

The press wouldn’t leave him alone. “Mr. Wayne, how does it feel knowing your oldest son is in critical condition?”

“No comment.”

“Mr. Wayne, how did Mr. Grayson develop such injuries in the first place?”

“No comment.”

“Mr. Wayne, don’t you think it funny that Dick Grayson was admitted to the same hospital as Nigthwing for the same injuries?”

“No comment.”

"Here for Mr. Grayson?" Bruce perked up when the doctor stepped out of the interior of the ER, the swinging doors still in motion behind him.

"I am," Bruce moved over to the doctor. He never understood how ER doctors could always look so clean, how their coats were never ruffled and their nitrile gloves never stained. Sometimes Bruce wondered if the doctors that came out to talk to the family were really doctors at all, or if they were merely well-payed actors.

"He's in surgery now," the doctor said, and Bruce nodded, teeth gritted. He was in surgery. That meant he wasn't dead. Or at least that he wasn't dead yet. "We're a Level One trauma center. We've got the best team and a hell of a good neurosurgeon taking good care of him."

Great. 'Hell of a good.' Not the best. Not even one of the best.

Bruce shut his eyes and took a deep, shaky breath.

If Dick died, he'd never forgive himself for it.

The selfish part of him wanted Dick to stay, even if he wouldn't be the same, even if he'd never make a full recovery.

With a bullet to the head, Bruce doubted Dick would ever get to make a full recovery.

"We'll keep you updated," the doctor added before retreating back to his sanctuary. Sometimes Bruce wondered how they could sleep at night, seeing the things they saw. Sometimes Bruce wondered how  _ he  _ could sleep at night, seeing the things he saw.

After today, he wasn't sure he was ever going to sleep again.

"Get him through this," he muttered, not sure to who. He'd never believed in God. God hadn't saved his parents. God hadn't saved Jason or Damian. Why should he start praying now?  _ He's got one of the best trauma teams looking after him,  _ the rational part of his mind tried to tell him.

Screw rationality.

Dick was dead, or he was dying, and it was all his fault.

* * *

_ Dick lay with his head on Bruce's chest. Bruce smiled and watched as the younger man moved gently with each breath. In. Up. Out. Down. He threaded his fingers through Dick's hair, wondering how Dick managed to always keep it so soft and styled, how it always managed to behave even after some of their rougher encounters. _

_ "Bruce?" Dick moved so he was facing Bruce, looking him dead in the eye, and Bruce resisted the urge to turn away. The talk was coming. Of course it was coming. How many times had they been together since their first time? They couldn't keep acting like it wasn't out of the ordinary, like it wasn't something they were eventually going to have to talk about. "What are we?" _

_ Bruce took a deep, shaky breath. What were they? He wasn't sure. They'd never really had a parent-child relationship, and God knew that had gone out the window long ago. Mentor and mentee? Still didn't seem to fit just right. Bruce wasn't sure of too many mentors who slept with their protegees. And then slept with them again. And again. _

_ "What do you want us to be?" he asked, unsure of how else to respond. Throw the ball in Dick's court. Let him call the shots. Sometimes life was easier that way, letting someone else take control. _

_ Bruce had always prided himself on his control, his discipline. But something about Dick threw all of that out the window. He could be himself, his true self without the gadgets and the press and the need to keep up appearances. _

_ Dick had shown him that Bruce Wayne still existed, somewhere underneath billionaire playboy Brucie Wayne and the big, bad Batman. And, much as he hated to admit it, it had been a relief finding that out. That he was still there, that deep down he was still, well, Bruce Wayne. _

_ He hoped Dick would never have to deal with those struggles. _

_ "I don't know," Dick admitted and lay back down. _

_ Bruce nodded and played with Dick's hair, savoring every minute he had with the man. Dick was different from any of the other lovers Bruce had had. He couldn't cast Dick to the side and act like nothing had happened. He couldn't decide he was tired of him one day and just ignore him. _

_ It would kill Dick if Bruce did either of those things, and Bruce wanted nothing more than to keep him safe, protected. Forever. _

_ Part of him was glad Dick didn't know. They didn't need labels. Both of them had enough already. It was enough to be together. _

_ Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne. _

_ What more did they need? _

* * *

He looked so small, connected to all the leads and monitors and IV drips. His skin was ghostly pale, something that Bruce didn't think he'd ever find to be as disturbing as it was. His head had been shaved, but Bruce had expected that. He'd even expected the nasty scar stitched on the side of his head.

Bruce sighed and took the unconscious man's hand, eyes glancing at the heart monitor, savoring each slight beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. It was comforting, knowing Dick was still alive, that he was still there. "You need to wake up," he whispered softly.

_ You can go back, but he's still asleep. _

_ Shouldn't he be awake by now? _

_ He's just taking a little longer than we'd like to wake from the anesthetic. We're not worried. Yet. _

It was the 'yet' that scared Bruce, scared him more than he'd ever admit to. He was the Batman for Christ's sake. He wasn't supposed to  _ be  _ fear, not know it. But something sank in the pit of his stomach any time the heart monitor paused, any time Dick's breathing hitched, and he knew in that moment that he wasn't scared, he was absolutely terrified that Dick was going to die.

"I'm sorry," Bruce whispered, not knowing if Dick could hear him or not, and not really caring either way. "I'm sorry I dragged you into this. I'm sorry you and the others keep getting hurt because of me."

Dick's hand twitched slightly, and Bruce looked up hopefully, but the younger man's eyes remained closed, and he showed no signs of further motion, and Bruce was convinced he had imagined Dick's hand twitching all along.  _ You're losing it, Wayne,  _ he told himself before looking back at the monitor, watching the steady rise and fall of the line.

"You have to wake up," he held Dick's deathly cold hand close to his heart, hoping the familiar thud would drag Dick back to consciousness, back to him.

The voice in the back of his head told him he needed to tell the others. But he was still furious with Jason, and Tim was off having fun with the Titans, and Damian would just be unnecessarily worried. No. It was better to keep quiet about it, at least for a short amount of time, at least until Bruce was sure what would happen, one way or another.

Even if Damian would never forgive him for not keeping him posted.

"I'm afraid it's time for you to leave, Mr. Wayne," a nurse said as he stepped into the room. Bruce blinked in confusion and checked the time on the trauma center wall. It was nearly three in the morning. He hadn't slept since two nights before.

He doubted he'd sleep at all once he got home, not when his mind was too occupied with thoughts of Dick and whether he'd live or die.

"I expect to be contacted when he wakes," Bruce said. When. Not if. He couldn't let himself think in 'if's.' It was too risky. If he was one thing he was sure of, it was that the universe hated Bats. He wasn't about to give it more fodder than it already had. No. He needed to think in certainties.

Dick would live.

Or he wouldn't.

It was the waiting that was going to kill him.


	2. Nobody Praying For Me

**Rust is showing on my armor. I am wheezing like an old man done. I’m a product of my anger. I’m the bullet in a loaded gun.**

"I saw on the news," Clark's voice came through Bruce's phone. He hadn't bothered checking it until he'd showered and gotten a meager three hours of sleep, most of it spent tossing and turning and wishing and hoping. But what had wishing and hoping gotten him before? He'd wished he could go back in time to save Jason. He'd wished he could bring his parents back. And every damn time had ended the same, with reality crashing in and tearing his hopes down brick by God-forsaken brick. Several missed calls and texts from JLA members. A panicked voicemail from Tim and Damian. He'd have to deal with them later in the morning. "How is he?"

"No change," Bruce answered. He'd left his phone ringer on, hoping to whatever God may or may not have been out there that the hospital's number would pop up, that the doctor would call and say Dick was awake and functioning, and that they could go on with their lives like this had all been some horrific dream.

"I'm sure he's past the worst of it," Clark continued, as if Bruce hadn't said anything in the first place. If Bruce didn't care about the man so damn much, he would have gone to Metropolis just to punch his pretty little face in.

Because what the hell did Clark know about any of this? What did Clark know about what he was going through? What his family was being put through? Not a damned thing.

"He still hasn't woken up."

"He will."

Bruce shut his eyes and sat on the seat in the bay window his mother had always been so fond of. He leaned against the cool glass and tried to focus on the gardens below, anything to keep his mind away from the dark place it kept threatening to go to. He wished he had an ounce of Clark's optimism, anything to get him through one of the worst weeks of his life. "What if he doesn't?"

It was a question he didn't want to think about, wasn't sure he wanted the answer to. He couldn't handle writing another obituary for a life taken too soon. He couldn't handle another funeral service performed by another man who didn't have a damned clue about what he was talking about.

He couldn't live in a world where Dick Grayson was past-tense.

A pause on the other end of the line.

"He will."

Bruce sighed and shut his eyes. What did Clark know about anything? He was damn near immortal. He’d never have to deal with a bullet to the head. None of his kids would have to deal with a bullet to the head. Still, it was nice that he was at least trying to make Bruce feel better, even if in the end he just mad Bruce feel worse. “Listen, I should go.”

“I’ll be thinking about you.”

Three harsh beeps signalling the call had been disconnected.

He was left alone with his thoughts, and that was almost worse than anything else he could think of. Because his head drove him insane faster than anything else could.

What was he supposed to do if Dick died? He couldn't live with himself if that happened. It was all his fault if it happened...

Dick wasn’t going to die.

Clark had said so.

Clark had never lied to him before.

Right?

* * *

_"What are you so afraid of?" Dick questioned and moved so he was sat in Bruce's lap. It wasn't fair how he was able to move like that, how he was able to press every last damn button that Bruce had._

_"Media finding out," Bruce answered, and immediately knew it wasn't the answer that Dick wanted. But it was the truth. Bruce had taken Dick in when he was nine. What would the media think if Dick suddenly started showing up to public events with him? No. They had to keep it a secret. It was better for both of them in the long run._

_"It's getting late," Dick said, and Bruce glanced at the clock. It was only eight. Dick usually stayed the night, even after some of their uglier fights. Especially after their uglier fights. But Bruce wasn't going to fight it. He knew it wouldn't do any good. Dick was an adult capable of making his own decisions, not to mention he was as stubborn as they came. It would be better in the long run to just let him go._

_He watched as Dick gathered up his things and pulled his shoes on. "You know it would be a nightmare if this got leaked," Bruce tried, and Dick just ignored him as he tied his tennis shoes._

_It was going to come down to a hard choice one day, and Bruce knew it. Dick or his image. He couldn't have both. He couldn't keep both, not for long. Dick would get sick of hiding it and leave, find someone better for him. But if things got out to the media, Bruce's reputation would be absolutely ruined. God, he could see the headlines now..._

_"I don't give a fuck about my name, you know," Dick commented as he headed for the door, and part of Bruce hoped it was an invitation to try to make amends, try to get Dick to stay. Anything to get Dick to stay... Well, almost anything at least. "I don't get why you do. It's not like I'm asking you to give up your Batman identity. I just want to go to some stupid charity event with you."_

_"You can still go," Bruce said, and knew it was the wrong answer yet again. He knew Dick didn't want to go. Dick had always hated social events. He wanted to go together. He wanted to go with Bruce and not for him, not showing off as Richard Grayson, poor orphaned boy taken in by a billionaire. Because even in his twenties, Dick couldn't shake that tagline. Bruce doubted he ever could._

_"You know that's not what I meant," Dick sighed, and Bruce watched helplessly as he left._

* * *

ICU waiting rooms were, in all honesty, one of Bruce Wayne's least favorite locations. There were fewer places more depressing. He sat in a too-comfortable chair and flipped through an old magazine. How many days had he spent doing this? No change, the doctors kept telling him. No change, no change, no change.

How many days could they go on with no change? Surely something had to be going on.

_No change is good change, Master Bruce,_ Alfred had tried to tell him the night before.

What the hell did Alfred know about any of this? Dick was dead or he was dying, there was no in between. And Bruce didn't know which outcome scared him more.

If Dick died, it was over, he was done. Bruce would grieve, possibly for the rest of his life.

If Dick lived, he'd never be the same, and Bruce didn't know in which ways the young man would be different, and that scared him even more.

How the hell was he supposed to handle Dick with a brain injury? What would the brain injury even look like? He didn't want to think about it. Whoever woke up wouldn't be his Dick, wouldn't be the man he'd come to know and love. And that thought scared the hell out of him like nothing else ever could have. Would Dick ever be the same again? He doubted it.

And what did that mean for them in the long-run?

"Mr. Wayne?" a nurse asked, and Bruce perked up in the chair he was sitting in to look the man in the eye. "He's awake."

Bruce took a deep breath before standing and following the nurse back. Dick was awake. Was he speaking? Was he coherent? Bruce didn't know. He wasn't sure he wanted to find out, even though he knew he needed to.

He took a shaky breath before stepping through the glass door. Dick glanced up at him, no sign of recognition showing on his face, and Bruce felt his heart sink in his chest. "Dick?" he asked carefully, gently, and watched as the younger man furrowed his eyebrows and nodded. "How are you feeling?"

"Do I know you?" Dick blinked in confusion, and Bruce fought the urge to recoil. _Do I know you?  
_

"You do," Bruce nodded and sat, not trying to take Dick's hand like he normally would. There was no sense in startling him. The last thing Dick needed was more stress in his mind, on his body... He glanced at the monitors, making sure everything looked okay. Dick didn't remember him, and that couldn't have meant anything good, and Bruce was going to have to do some detective work to figure out where Dick was in that head of his. "Do you know why you're here?"

Dick nodded, and Bruce let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Did he remember being shot? Was it just a block in his memory then and not full-blown amnesia? "Was playing with Raymond and Raya and broke my arm. Want my parents."

_God,_ Bruce thought. He was going to have to break the news to him. Maybe when he wasn't so fragile. Maybe it was just the drugs talking and Dick would get his right head back the next time he woke up.

"'M really tired."

"Then sleep," Bruce instructed.

God knew the kid needed it.

* * *

_Bruce pulled him closer before flipping their positions so he was smirking down at the younger man. "Told you this was a good idea," Dick smirked up at him, and Bruce just wanted to kiss that cocky little mouth of his to get him to shut up._

_They'd gone public with the relationship. His name was ruined, but he didn't care, not when it made Dick this happy, not when Dick was putty in his hand. The media would forget when the next big scandal came along, and everyone would move on with their lives. Sure stock had dropped astronomically, but it would bump back up. It always did._

_He smashed his lips against Dick's and pressed the younger man down by his hips.  
_

_For a moment, he was able to forget about everything: the bad press, the latest Arkham breakout, Joker's shenanigans. Because in that moment, Dick Grayson was his, completely his and no one else's._

_Dick lay with his head on his chest afterward, and Bruce played with his hair. "You were right," he admitted, hating how the words tasted in his mouth. Bruce Wayne was never wrong. Well, except when he was. But even then, it was an act of God himself for Bruce to admit it. But something about Dick made him different, made him better. Made him want to be better._

_Who could resist Dick's sheer perfection and charm? He knew he sure as hell couldn't._

_Dick was his drug, and he was happily addicted. Rehab wasn't even on the table, and he hoped it never would be. Dick was his, and he was determined to keep it that way._

_"Think I can get that on an audio recording?" Dick smirked, and Bruce grinned and pecked his lips. Even breathless and covered in a light sheen of sweat, Dick was perfect, impossibly beautiful._

_"Hell, for you I'll write it and sign it," Bruce laughed, wondering when the last time he laughed was. It had to have been years, maybe even decades. He had a reputation to uphold, after all. But it was easier to be himself around Dick, easier not to care about what everyone else would think. Easier to let his guard down._

_He wouldn't trade Dick for the world._

* * *

"How is he?" Clark asked when he stepped into the waiting room. Bruce had to do a double-take to make sure it was really him. Didn't he have work to do in Metropolis? He had no business just dropping into Gotham to make sure Bruce and Dick were okay. They could handle themselves... Still, it was good to see a familiar face, one he knew he could lean on for support when everything was falling to pieces around him.

"Not good," Bruce sighed and sat down on one of the couches in the waiting area. He wondered where hospitals got their waiting room furniture and if they came per-distressed. Still, he'd become well-acquainted with the shitty furniture and the shitty vending machine food and the worse than shitty coffee over the past several hours. "Thinks he's still a kid."

"Ouch," Clark flinched and sat beside Bruce.

Bruce nodded and ran a hand through his hair before staring up at the ceiling. He knew he'd break if he looked Clark in the eye, if he saw the sympathy and the sadness he knew would be there. "You didn't have to come here."

"I did," Clark argued, and Bruce didn't try to push it. Sometimes, though he'd never admit it in a thousand years, it was nice to have someone on his side, someone who cared. Especially when his go-to person was currently unavailable.

"How the hell am I supposed to tell him he's in his twenties and his parents are dead?" How was he supposed to break it to Dick that he was missing literal years of his life? That he'd watched his parents die? That every conceivable horrible thing had happened to Dick and his new family? It was too much for anyone to handle, especially all at once, especially in such a vulnerable state. 

"I don't know," Clark responded, and Bruce just nodded even though that wasn't the answer he wanted to hear. Wasn't the answer he needed to hear. Wasn't Clark supposed to be the one with all the answers? Wasn't Clark supposed to be the godly being who could make everyone's problems magically disappear? God, he must have been losing it if he was going down that mental train. "You need to go home and get some rest, let the kids know."

"I'm not leaving him," Bruce answered automatically. He knew he had at least ten missed calls each from Tim and Damian, three missed FaceTime calls from Cass. How the hell was he supposed to begin to tell them what was going on? And how the hell was he supposed to track Jason down to let him know? Their last meeting hadn't exactly been pleasant.

"Bruce, it's okay to take care of yourself," Clark put a hand on his shoulder, and Bruce finally let himself look at the man, trying to keep it together when he saw the sympathy in Clark's eyes. He didn't need it. He wasn't a child. "You're not going to do him or the others any good if you collapse on us."

"I hate it when you're right, you know," Bruce spoke, voice clear and even.

He was going to have to face the kids sooner or later. He knew that.

But how the hell was he supposed to tell them their hero had fallen? That Dick wasn't himself and might not ever be himself again?

"I'll call you if anything changes, okay?" Clark asked, and Bruce nodded and stood. "You shouldn't drive. I'll call Alfred for you."

"Thanks," Bruce sighed before heading to the elevator, pressing the down button and waiting.

He hated when waiting was the only thing he could do.

 


End file.
